


Getting As Good As You Gave

by StarMaple



Series: Post Stars Hollow [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: College, F/M, Fix-it fic, mentions of adultery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaple/pseuds/StarMaple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>21 is way too early to think your life is over. Dean Forester finally pulls himself together, gets the hell out of Dodge and goes back to college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Semester

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Live Journal April 05, 2007.

Everyone’s got a breaking point, he supposes.

Dean considers himself a pretty easy going guy and he lets most things just roll off him but even he can’t ignore the slow build of pressure in his life. He’s got an empty apartment that he comes home – alone – to most nights. He’s working two jobs, even if Dean’s a little old to still be a bagboy. While there might be some room for advancement in construction, the Stars’ Hollow building boom seems to have reached it’s peak with the _Dragonfly Inn_ renovation.

There’s a balancing act to Stars’ Hollow that he never figured out. He’s never understood how an outsider with too much Chicago in him can still get rejected as too provincial by the town’s golden girl when compared to the urbane, rich young men of Yale.

And then there’s Lindsay. He’s managed to have an ex-wife before he’s even legally allowed to drink.

He lets it build, wonders if it’s some kind of punishment for screwing up Lindsay’s life and disappointing his parents, but one day he gets an idea, maybe from a dream or a TV show or something he read in a book; he’s not really sure, but the important thing is his life probably isn’t over at 21. Sure, he wasted a year or two there, but there is still an opportunity to make something of himself – somehow.

The first step is to get the hell out of Dodge.

An hour later, he’s sitting on the floor of his apartment surrounded by envelopes and stamps and a stack of the appropriate forms and applications printed off from the Star’s Hollow library public computer terminal. He’s tapping a pen thoughtfully against his teeth as he contemplates the questions on the applications and figures out how many copies of his official records he’ll need to request. Behind him sits a pad of paper where he’s worked out the best way to divert every dime he can from his paychecks to his savings account.

A few months later, he’s eating up the miles in his pick-up, heading west. There are boxes piled high under a tarp in the back of his truck and in the passenger seat next to him is a blue and orange folder that reads ‘University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign’. It holds the acceptance letter, the offer of a need-based scholarship, and his dormitory assignment.

* * *

Owing to his age, he gets a single dorm room and owing to his height he gets an extra long bed… the kind they usually reserve for the basketball team.He thinks he’d probably be a little more comfortable in an off-campus apartment, but he wants this for the experience as well as the education.

He likes wandering out into the common room in the middle of the night and making friends with whatever insomniac is watching re-runs of The A-Team. He likes eating in the cafeteria surrounded by a swarm of 18-25 year-olds full of potential and looking to the future rather than the odd characters of a small New England town who know his entire history. His floormates like him because he’s one of three guys in the dorm who can legally buy alcohol.

It’s a completely different experience than the commuter college lifestyle he had in Stars’ Hollow. The first week of classes brings with it anxiety that dampens his excitement a little, but by the second week he starts to realize that perhaps not all post-secondary education is what Rory Gilmore made it out to be. Sure, there are some kids in the front of the class who do all the reading a week in advance and have their hands in the air with all the answers… but there are also a lot of kids who have no idea what is going on, kids who can’t understand the lectures or readings, or sleep through the class, or don’t show up in the first place.When the professors post the scores for the first big tests of the year, he’s pleasantly surprised to see his name in the top 25% in every class.

Winter hits early that year, and there’s already snow on the ground in October. He’s crunching through the snow in the main quad, backpack slung over his shoulder, and huffing clouds of steam into the air as he thinks this college thing might actually work out. He’s feeling pretty confident - confident enough to add a few extra-curricular activities to his semester. There’s room in his schedule, between classes and studying and his part-time job, for some intramural hockey. It’s been far too long since he put the stick leaning against the wall in his dorm room to use. He grins at the prospect of lacing up his skates again as he marches towards the student union for sign-ups.

Other students pass him, bundled up against the cold on the way to and from classes, some clutching coffee cups and leeching heat from them to warm their hands. It’s freezing today and no one is lingering in the cold any longer than they have to – except for one lone girl sitting on a bench next to the pathway, nose buried in a thick textbook. She’s a brunette with a ponytail, and that, combined with the intensity she seems to be examining her book with, almost sends him running – But there’s something odd about the tableau and he slows as he approaches, looking at the scene curiously. She’s shivering in a sweater and jeans, but next to her on the bench are a scarf, a knit cap and a very warm looking parka.

He stops in front of her, but she doesn’t seem to notice, so he speaks. “Um… are you okay?”

She starts, violently, and from the way she jerks her head up and blinks her - thankfully brown - eyes at him, he can tell she was actually sleeping face down in her textbook. He fights a bemused grin, as she takes in her surroundings and huffs out a foggy breath of frustration.

“Dammit! Not again!” She slams her textbook down next to her on the bench and stands to wrestle her sweater over her head. She’s taller than he expected, as she unfolds her legs and straightens her shoulders. She’s only about a half-foot shorter than he is, although he suspects she’s getting a boost from the boots she’s wearing. The sweater joins the pile of articles of clothing on the bench next to her, and she’s left in a lightweight button-down. She gives a full body shiver as a gust of frigid air hits her nearly unprotected skin.

“What are you doing!?” he exclaims. She's going to freeze to death!

“Trying to do my reading,” she says through chattering teeth. She holds up her textbook so he can read the title: ‘ _Psychology and the Law_ ’. She looks at it, nonplussed. “Narcolepsy: A Practical Approach,” she yawns, emphasizing the title she’s given it. “I’ve drifted off five times trying to get through this stupid chapter. I was hoping the cold would keep me conscious. It usually does. Apparently, this book is immune.” Dean is pretty sure her lips are turning blue.

“You’re going to die out here.”

She hugs the book to her chest, bouncing a bit to attempt to keep warm. ”Do you think they give posthumous A’s for martyring yourself for academia?”

He blinks at her. “Do you need an A that badly?”

“You know what? If I am going to martyr myself for academia, it’s not going to be for this crappy class. I won’t give this book the pleasure!” She tosses it back on the bench, and stands there, looking up at him, teeth chattering, for a good thirty seconds before exclaiming “Shit, it’s cold!” and diving towards her sweater.

He laughs, mostly in relief, and picks up her parka for her as she struggles into her sweater, the cold making her fingers clumsy. Once she’s got head and arms in the right holes, he holds the jacket open for her, to make it easier to slip into it. She mumbles her thanks as she fishes gloves out of the pockets and then jams her hat on her head and wraps her scarf around her neck as many times as she can.

He’s torn between amusement and pity, watching her dress and gather her things. As soon as her bag is packed and in her hands, he’s pushing her towards the student union. “You need someplace warm and a cup of coffee,” he says kindly, when she starts to argue.

Katie, as he later discovers her name to be, doesn’t like coffee, but she graciously accepts a hot chocolate; as soon as the barista slides it across the counter, she presses the cardboard cup to her pink nose and cheeks, trying to warm them. She peers up at him through the one eye that’s not covered by her coffee cup. “I’m nominating you for some sort of service award. One they give to the kids who spend all their free time volunteering. This hot chocolate is worth at least three months of saving puppies or teaching kids to read.”

He laughs and takes a sip of the black coffee in his own cup. She finally lowers her cup from her cheek and raises it to her lips to take a tentative sip of her own. She glances up at the clock in the little café at the Student Union. “I didn’t make you late for a class or anything, did I?” she asks, looking a little ashamed.

“No,” he says, smiling. He leaves the café and heads towards the intramural office and she follows. They discover, on the jaunt upstairs - quickly summarizing hometowns, activities and class schedules - that Katie happens to be in his Intro to Western Civ class, one of those required classes that fill the largest lecture halls with freshmen and sophomores – along with a few procrastinating juniors and seniors, like Katie, who can’t put the inevitable off any longer. She brings a Tupperware container of homemade chocolate chip cookies and two pints of milk to the next class in thanks and they sit together in the back row, sharing milk and cookies and copying each other’s notes.

* * *

 Dean signs up for intramural hockey as a single player and is assigned to a team made up of people who play hockey but don’t know enough other people who play hockey to make their own team. He quickly becomes thankful for that fact, as he’s matched with a couple of international students from former Soviet Republics who hit like Mack trucks and could probably stand out on the school varsity team if they didn’t think school was more important.Dean feels bad for all the frat boys they send crashing into the boards but he’s glad he’s on their team because it prevents him from ever being on the receiving end of one of their teeth-rattling checks.

Katie asks him when his games are after class one day and he blinks.“Why do you want to know?”

She gives him a look like he’s crazy and shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. You bought me hot chocolate one time and I baked you cookies that other time. I thought we might be friends.”

He smiles warmly at her and she can’t help but return his infectious grin. “We’re friends.”

“Excellent.”

“But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

She blinks at him slowly, like she can’t figure out if he’s teasing her or actually brain damaged. She finally settles for grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him as she speaks slowly and clearly, “You are my friend and I want to support your endeavors. When. Is. Your. Next. Game?”

He laughs and tells her, but he’s still a little surprised when he spots her in the sparse intramural crowd at the next game during warm ups. She smiles and waves from the bleachers and then goes back to munching on the apple she brought with her. He’s even more surprised when he glances up after coming off for a shift change and she’s not reading, or watching the proceedings in a distant sort of way; she’s actually pounding her fist against the glass and cheering on Yuri as he fights for the puck against the boards. She’s at every game after that except for the one she gets thrown out of for unsportsmanlike conduct. He saw her holding the sign she had made and heckling the Betas – those undefeated bastards - before the intramural staff confiscated it and kicked her out of the arena.

It _was_ probably inappropriate, but it was really funny.

* * *

 It’s November and they’re sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch together while studying. It’s Dean’s job to glance up at her from time to time and make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep between the pages of _Psychology and the Law_ again. She hasn’t turned a page or eaten a French fry in a while, and he flips his pencil in his hands to poke her in the forehead with the eraser.

When he looks up, though, she’s looking at him contemplatively and chewing her lip.

“Something wrong?” He asks, concerned.

She tilts her head at him like she’s trying to figure him out. She opens her mouth to say something; pauses, and then starts again. “You know… if you ever wanted to get a more-than-friendly cup of coffee or dinner or something, that would be awesome.”

He certainly did not come to university to find a girlfriend. With his track record, he should probably just avoid girls all together. But he likes hanging out with Katie and he has to admit that if it weren’t for his previous relationship baggage, he probably would have asked her out the day they met. And because his university experience is, aside from education, about getting over his baggage and finding a new and improved Dean Forester, he smiles at her and asks if she’d be willing to try that new restaurant off Lincoln street with him.

They go out to dinner on Friday night talking and laughing throughout the meal and the whole walk back to her place. She wears heels that make it even easier to look her in the eyes without getting a crick in his neck from looking down. They also make it that much easier for her to lean up and quickly capture his lips with hers once they get to her door. He looks at her, a little shocked, as she grins at him.

“I just got the feeling you weren’t going to take the initiative, so I did.” He grins, dazzling white in the light of the full moon, and slides a hand into her hair to guide her head closer so he can take the initiative back.

* * *

They both decide it’s kind of stupid to drive or fly all the way back home for one long weekend just to eat turkey, no matter how mad it makes their mothers.

There’s a Thanksgiving meal offered in the cafeteria for the kids not going home, but Dean’s never been fond of their mashed potatoes and Katie rolls her eyes and says they’ll have Thanksgiving at her place then. She’s got an off-campus apartment with a tiny, but well-furnished kitchen, and though Dean hasn’t been lucky finding women who can cook in the past, he gives her the benefit of the doubt based on her cookie baking skills.

They go to the grocery store together and get a bag of potatoes and a can of cranberry sauce and a tube of crescent rolls, but the smallest turkey there could easily serve six people - for a week. Dean scratches his head and Katie bites her lip thoughtfully.

“Yuri and Mikhail are still around, right?” she asks. “I bet they can put away a lot of turkey.”

He nods. “There’s a few Canadians in the league too. They’re not going anywhere. Their Thanksgiving was in October.”

She grabs the six-person turkey and throws it in the cart, smiling. “We’ll make it a potluck. Call them up!”

He’s at her apartment early on Thanksgiving; she’s already prepping stuff in the kitchen and watching the parade on TV. She puts him to work, despite his protests, and he’s pleasantly surprised that everything he had a hand in turns out decently. The turkey itself turns out great, despite the few panicked phone calls to Katie’s mom.

The guests arrive and the table fills with green bean casserole, a pumpkin pie, a salad, and a bottle of wine. One of the Canadians-- a stocky goalie from Montreal who everyone just calls Crazy Pierre, even though Dean thinks his name is actually something like Martin—brings a pie called _torte de sucre_ that goes in the oven to bake while they eat. It tastes like it’s made entirely from brown sugar and cream and puts the whole party into a sugar coma before halftime of the football game.

* * *

 There are things, aside from her brown hair and her propensity to read on park benches, that remind him uncomfortably of Rory sometimes. It makes him hesitate.

They’re watching Saturday Night Live in the common room of his dorm, and SNL’s gone a bit esoteric this week and she has to explain some of the more obscure pop-culture references that he misses. She knows them all from Kerouac to Christina Aguilera.

It makes him feel a little out of his depth and off balance again and he frowns to himself. She gives him a sidelong glance and the next night she drags him out to the local bar’s trivia night and the two of them win enough bar credit in the competition to keep them in free booze for the rest of the semester; he even nails a few obscure questions about Pippi Longstocking that leaves her gaping at him.

* * *

 It’s December and he calls her regretfully to cancel their date for that night. The end of term is coming up and the Intro-Psych essay he thought would be a piece of cake is not going down without a fight and he’s gearing up for an all-nighter.

She shows up at his dorm room an hour later in flannel pajama pants and clutching a paper grocery bag.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, confused, when he opens the door.

“Helping you with your paper,” She says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got an A in Intro-Psych.”

She moves past him into his dorm room and sits him back down at the computer. She sits down on his bed and does studying of her own, keeping him company and offering help when he needs it.

When he starts fading at 1:00 AM, she digs into the grocery bag and offers him Red Bull and Red Vines, Pepsi and popcorn. She makes coffee in the common room coffee pot and keeps his mug full. At 4:00 AM, he reaches his page count just as he’s fading fast. She tells him to catch a nap before revising his draft and he’s too tired to argue and passes out before he can even get under the covers.

She uncaps a Pepsi and pulls up his chair and types up his bibliography and title page, corrects the formatting on his footnotes and fills a page and a half of notebook paper with grammatical corrections and suggestions to improve the paper. She wakes him up at 7:00 AM with a fresh mug of coffee and a Danish from her bag of groceries. Three hours of sleep have left him surprisingly refreshed. She walks him through her editorial notes, congratulates him on a solid final essay, and then leaves him at the computer to finish up - telling him to wake her if he needs any help as she curls up in the warm spot he left on his bed.

He wakes her at 10:00 AM with a gentle line of kisses across her face until she blinks her eyes open with a lazy smile and pulls him closer for a sleepy, slow kiss. She walks with him to his 10:30 class, still in her flannel pajama pants, as she gives the final version of the essay one last read-through. She declares it ‘perfect’ as they get to the classroom and she hands it back to him with a smile, before shuffling off to her bed to get more sleep before her 1:30 class.

* * *

 Katie does not have her life all planned out.

She gets threatening letters on school stationary insisting that she’s a junior and needs to pick a major. She snorts when they come and toss them in the trash. She’s turning the latest letter into a paper airplane to see if she can hit the garbage can from across the room instead of studying _Psychology and the Law_ , and he asks “What are you going to major in? Psychology or Pre-Law?”

He’s got the little catalogue of available classes for the next semester laid out in front of him, and he’s trying to put together a schedule for himself. He’s planning on declaring himself an Engineering major once he gets all the pre-reqs out of the way. All that work on cars and construction can only help him and he thinks maybe he’ll take some drafting and architecture, too.

“After this class?” she asks, indicating her textbook distastefully. “Neither.” She tosses her airplane and it smacks into the wall above the garbage can in her kitchen and floats just wide of her target. She presses her lips together in displeasure, before a more thoughtful look takes over her face. “Maybe I’ll try English next.”

* * *

 Dean once found a little bakery off campus on one of his walks around town. He goes back on the first day of finals week and buys four cupcakes; Round cakes make him think of Rory Gilmore, of being awkward and sixteen. The woman behind the counter puts them in a little pink box and, after a little wheedling from Dean, writes a message across their tops in neat blue icing letters: “No More Psych Law!”

He’s waiting outside the lecture hall carrying his little box when the exam ends. Students file past him but he doesn’t see Katie. He frowns, wondering if he somehow missed her, and steps into the lecture hall. She’s standing at the bottom talking to a guy. An attractive guy. She laughs and smiles at him and Dean’s hand twitches. There’s a little ball of anger slowly growing in his stomach and he can’t believe this is all happening all over again when she finally notices him out of the corner of her eye.

The guy is midway through a sentence but her face lights up and she shouts “Dean!” at him like she hasn’t seen him in months, even though he was sitting at her kitchen table just last night tossing Peanut M&Ms at her to keep her awake as she studied. She concludes whatever she was saying to the guy in a hurry and bounds up the stairs two at a time, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her hated text book over her head. “It’s done! I don’t have to read this stupid book ever again!”

She comes to a screeching halt in front of him and springs up on her tiptoes to press an exuberant kiss to his lips. He smiles, reassured and fighting a laugh. She throws a thumb over her shoulder at the attractive boy behind her, who looks fairly amused by the whole display as well.

“Patrick, he’s the TA, was just assuring me that I passed so I don’t have to worry about retaking it and I cannot wait to take this book out to the middle of the quad and burn it in a ritual bonfire!”

He holds out his pink box as they leave the lecture hall and reenter the hallway. “I got you something,” he says and smiles.

She drops her book on the floor, earning startled and irritated glances from the students attempting to cram at the study carrels a few feet away, and reaches out to take the box from him now that her hands are free. “No more psych law!” She cheers, reading the message on the cupcakes, and earning further ire from the kids occupying the carrels. The cupcakes earn him another kiss, and then they are off down the hallway again, Katie kicking _Psychology and the Law_ in front of her like a soccer ball.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, almost afraid to break it to her. “You know, you’re kinda killing the buy-back value on that book.”

She sighs. “I suppose,” she says, dragging out the last word.

He snatches it off the floor for her so she doesn’t have to juggle her cupcakes and brushes off the cover, examining it for damage. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he assures her as they continue down the hallway. Aside from the students crammed into the only-there-during-finals-week study carrels, the halls are much emptier than they are normally. They find a couch in a student lounge that has somehow remained undiscovered and sit down to share the cupcakes. She takes ‘Psych’ for herself and hands him ‘Law!’. ‘No’ and ‘More’ have to wait when he pulls her into his lap and kisses blue icing off her nose.

* * *

 Dean is sure Christmas vacation in Stars’ Hollow is going to be interminable.

He misses the freedom of school, he misses Katie, and he misses being around people that don’t know his entire life story from 16-years-old on.

He keeps away from town as much as he can and picks up some construction work that keeps him busy and lets him worry less about making his savings stretch over four years of tuition.

He doesn’t plan on telling his folks about Katie. He’s pretty sure they’re still pretty touchy about Lindsay and the third go-round with Rory, and he thinks that telling them that he met this awesome girl his first semester at a new school might not be the best thing to do at the moment. But Katie stays in touch over the holidays. E-mails. Phone calls. Actual snail mail letters, with doodles in the margins of cupcakes and hockey skates, wrapped around those pictures of the two of them that Yuri took before Dean dropped her off at the airport.

He answers her e-mails when there’s no one around to read over his shoulder and when she calls his cell phone when he’s home he takes a casual stroll outside for the ‘reception’. Letters are tucked safely in the inside pocket of his work jacket so he can pull them out on breaks when he needs a smile.

She calls a few days before Christmas and he takes his phone out the front door and answers it on the way down the front steps. “Get to a computer!” she insists before he’s even finished his greeting.

“Katie? What’s wrong?”

“Grades are in!” He can see her in his mind’s eye, bouncing on her toes in excitement.

He’s back through the door in a flash, practically dumping Clara out of the desk chair before logging into the school website. “How’d you do?” he asks, tapping his heel impatiently as the page loads. He misses the speed of the school’s Internet.

“Still clinging to my 3.4.”

“And Psych Law?”

“A- thanks to you.”

“I just kept you awake.”

“A Herculean effort with that book, I assure you.”

He laughs into the receiver as the page loads up and he leans forward, scrolling down past his transfer credits. His indrawn breath of shock gives her the wrong impression.

“Dean? Is it bad? Don’t panic, you can totally retake anything…”

“No… No… I got…” He can barely believe it. “I got a 3.8.”

“Dean!” He can hear her smile. “That’s awesome! That’s like honor roll scholarship bait, right there!”

“I got an A+ in Intro Psych!”

“Toldja,” she says, smug and proud, before breaking into a chuckle. “Dean just made the Dean’s List!”

And he smiles and forgets to hang up or walk out of the room with the phone when Clara brings his parents over. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have his parents truly proud of him. They haven’t been proud like this since his wedding - since probably even before his wedding. There are smiles and hugs and congratulations, and that’s capital he needs, because his mother hears his tone of voice when he tells Katie “I miss you,” and “I can’t wait to see you again.”

There’s a bit of an uncomfortable talk after that but Dean does his best to convince her that this is Katie; she’s not Lindsay and she’s not Rory and he doesn’t like her because she’s like or unlike either of those girls. And no girl, Lindsay, Rory _or_ Katie is going to keep him from making school his top priority. Especially now that he’s flush with success.

Dean Forester, Honor Student.


	2. Second Semester

Despite her own decision difficulties - or perhaps because of them - Katie makes a bit of a big deal when he officially becomes an Engineering major in his second semester at school.

She accompanies him to file the final paperwork and when everything is done and finished and on his official transcripts and everything, she presents him with a huge bucket of Legos with a bow on top. “Happy Selecting Your Major Day!” she says, smiling. “Engineer me something.”

And because it is a rainy, miserable January afternoon and they have no classes, they end up sitting opposite each other on his dorm room floor, bucket between them. Building things.

He runs across a big base piece first, so he’s building a house or an office building - or maybe a castle, because it’s developing turrets and flags as it gets taller. Katie is building… He’s not quite sure. It looks like a big red cube to him, but she’s digging in the bucket with a purpose now looking for something besides the red bricks she’s been favoring up until this point. Suddenly she gives a little cheer and pulls a few pieces out of the bucket in triumph, affixing them to the bottom of the red cube. They turn out to be wheels.

She sets her creation back on the ground when she finishes, squares it up, and gives it a little push with her finger. She watches it roll smoothly across the linoleum until it bumps into his shin.

“I built you a car,” she says with a pleased smile.

* * *

Dean has been burned before by saying things like _’I love you,’_ and _’Marry me,’_ and _’Sleep with me,’_ before he probably should have. His past relationships are marked by stupid decisions on his part when the relationship is still in the new and exciting phase early on before it settles into comfortable.

He fights the automatic desire to claim early and be claimed and waits until the point when he wouldn’t be mortified flossing in front of her. When he likes looking nice when he sees her but answering the door in a ratty old t-shirt and gym shorts and his hair sticking up every which way doesn’t overly bother him.

There’s just one little thing to get out of the way before he can start planning how best to declare his devotion; he needs to tell her he’s a divorcee. And maybe that he’s an adulterer, since if he really wants her to stick around for a while, she’ll probably end up in Stars’ Hollow eventually. That’s just not the kind of news he wants first passed on to her by someone like Luke or, God forbid, Lindsay.

That’s the one good thing about Stars’ Hollow, he decides. There’s not a need for big secret revelations ‘cause most people know everything already. He still can’t believe it was the freaking letter that clued Lindsay in to his affair and not an ill-timed comment by a nosy citizen.

He’s not quite sure how to go about it. He instinctually wants to butter her up first, which usually means a night out, but he thinks revealing something like that in public is a particularly jerky thing to do. He contemplates going over to her place with dinner or dessert or something but thinks that if she does flip out, she should have someplace to storm out to. He doesn’t think it’s fair to bring a potentially trauma causing discussion to her space. Which leaves one option.

It’s a Friday night and they watch a movie in the common room before heading back to his room. She flops onto his bed and reaches for his small stack of CDs and selects one at random - she’s not picky about music, but she likes it on in the background sometimes - to throw in the CD player/clock radio next to his bed.

“Uh, hold on a second,” he starts, scratching the back of his head and feeling awkward.

She looks up at him, a little startled, probably more by the expression on his face than his words. She puts the CD back and then sits up on the bed to look at him.

“I kinda need to tell you something,” he continues and takes both her hands in his as he sits next to her on the bed.

Her brow crinkles. “Something not good?”

He looks at their hands, between the two of them on the comforter. “Not great,” he admits. “It’s just…” He looks up at her face then, trying to look honest and pathetic and so sorry for any past indiscretions. “I need to tell you something before you hear it from anyone else.”

“Okay,” she says and she doesn’t look any less worried, but she squeezes his hands supportively.

“I have an ex…” he starts, “And it was not a happy break-up.”

She sighs in relief. “Oh, God, I thought it was going to be something horrible! You should meet my ex-boyfriend. Or actually, you really shouldn’t, because he’s a total bastard.”

“No, no, no.” He interrupts, somehow feeling more horrible. “I have an ex-wife.”

“Oh.” It’s a wide-eyed whisper. Her fingers are twisting together between his hands. “That’s, um, unexpected.” She looks down at the bed. “Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She looks back up at him with a braver face and a half smile and he thinks he just really needs to get this all out because parceling it out in little pieces seems cruel.

“So, um, we got married right out of high school and it was probably way premature… and almost certainly because I was trying to force myself to get over my ex-girlfriend. It probably wouldn’t have lasted long anyway, ‘cause it just wasn’t working, but we finally got divorced when she found out I was having an affair… with the ex-girlfriend I really wasn’t over.”

“No.” She shakes her head and looks at him like she’s waiting for the punchline. “No. I can’t believe that. You cheated? You?”

“It was not a real happy time. I didn’t act like myself.”

She slides her hands away from his and his chest hurts. “Is there anything else?”

“Um, no. That’s pretty much the big secret.” He rubs a hand along his jaw hard enough that he can feel stubble, even though he shaved before she came over.

“Okay,” she says again, licking her lips and standing up. “I need to go,” she points at the door, “And think.”

He clutches the comforter under his hands but nods. “I can understand that.”

She takes a step forward, like she’s going to touch him, and then pulls her hand back and walks out the door.

He sleeps like shit, and replays the whole scene in his head all night, but he honestly can’t think of anything he could have done to make the situation any easier on her.

His phone rings the next morning and he can’t get to it fast enough. “Katie?”

“Hi Dean.” She sounds tired, like she didn’t sleep either.

He feels like he should say something but, really, the ball’s in her court so he stays silent. She sighs. “Cheating is bad.”

“I agree.”

“Like 'number one pet peeve' bad. Like ’How do you ever trust someone who can do that?’ bad.”

He can’t fight the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah.”

“But I like you. And I trust you. And you bought me cupcakes… And I think I can acknowledge that there may have been some extenuating circumstances that probably won’t repeat themselves?”

“Exactly.” The feeling of pressure in his chest is lessening for the first time since she left his room.

“But, you have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If you’re about to cheat on me, you have to break up with me first. Call me any time of the night, whatever. But you end it with me before you move on.”

“What?”

“Just say, ‘Katie, we’re breaking up,’ and I’ll totally get it. Then it’s not cheating, and there’s no horrible secrecy, and there’s no point where I find out later and feel sick and stupid.”

“Katie… I’m not going to cheat on you. Trust me, that’s not an experience I want to relive.”

“Promise!” There is desperation in her voice that can only mean she knows this experience first hand and it makes him feel worse about what happened to Lindsay. He hopes he didn’t screw her up for life.

“Okay, Katie, I promise to break up with you should I ever be tempted to cheat.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not gonna happen, Katie.” There’s a silence on the line but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a silence of relief, but Dean breaks it because he needs something more solid than the quiet. “Look, I’m coming over. Can I come over? I just… really need to touch you right now.”

“I’m already on my way to your dorm. I’ll be there in five minutes.” She’s at his door in four. A hug has never felt so good.

It’s their first major freak-out as a couple, but once it’s over and settled - taking a few days for it to really settle in - things are better than they were before. Dean finds himself spending the night at her place from time to time and discovers he soon has a drawer of his own in her dresser and a place for his toothbrush on her bathroom counter.

This is not to say that everything is perfect. They disagree and they fight sometimes, especially around deadlines for big assignments or within a few days of an exam, but most things seem to be sorted out quickly - either by apologies, coming to an agreement or agreeing to disagree. It’s slowly starting to approximate a real, emotionally mature relationship, Dean thinks, and having it as a new standard for comparison makes him even more bewildered at his younger self.

He wonders how he could have even fooled himself for an instant that marrying Lindsay at 18 was the right thing to do. Wonders why no one but Rory seemed to think of trying to stop them. He can’t understand why he never figured out, until it was too late, that love doesn’t get you much if you don’t have the trust and communication skills to get into a fight and then get your way out of it. Or how come it took him three tries with Rory before he figured out that compromise is a great thing, but if you’re the one doing all the compromising, you have to be able to demand what you need, too.

The first time Katie told him it was his turn to pick out a movie, he was stunned into awkwardness. Now, he thinks it’s a good sign that not only can he pick out half the films they watch now without even questioning it, he can also flat out refuse to watch a movie Katie wants to see that he knows he’ll hate. The compromise comes in when he ends up seeing most of those movies anyway, but not out of fear of one tiny cinema argument snowballing into the end of the relationship. It’s because she cocks her head and narrows her eyes at him and can somehow usually figure out exactly the favor or promise or marathon of Vietnam War flicks it’ll take to make an equal trade.

* * *

 Somehow, the second semester goes even faster than the first. And while scholarships and on-campus jobs are keeping tuition paid without totally decimating his savings, he’ll never be able to make it through the whole program without taking summers off to make money. He’s kept in touch with Tom, and he’s been offered a raise if he comes back to work construction this summer, so it’s back to Stars’ Hollow for him.

Katie is off to Maine. There’s a summer camp there that she’s worked at for the past three years that pays pretty well due to the preponderance of rich kids that get sent there. And while she refers to them collectively as ‘the little bastards’ there’s always a note of affection in her voice and he figures she can’t hate it too much if she’s going back for the fourth time. He thinks she’s almost looking forward to it.

Summer break is an eternity compared to winter break and the effort it takes to go away is infinitely greater. “You,” Dean accuses, from one end of Katie’s much-heavier-than-it-looks couch, “only like me because I can lift heavy things. You’ve been plotting this all year long.”

“Don’t forget you have a big truck,” Katie says, from the back where she is sliding boxes to one side to make room for the couch. “And you have friends who can lift heavy things,” she finishes, waving at Yuri who has the other end of the couch.

The couch gets maneuvered onto the back of the truck and held in place with bungee cords and rope. Other members of Dean’s hockey team willing to trade hard labor for pizza and beer hand a few more boxes up to Katie, and she stacks them carefully in the back. “As this was clearly my plan all along,” she jokes, jumping down from the back of the truck with some help down from Dean, “It is very fortunate for me that you turned out to be so nice and handsome and lovable.”

She plants a kiss on his jaw before throwing an arm around him and heading back up to her apartment. They’ve decided to share a storage space over the summer, or really, Katie’s allowed him to have all the spare room in hers since she’s got way more stuff than the few boxes of personal belongings he was able to fit in his dorm room.

The apartment is nearly empty. Once Katie is back inside, she lets go of Dean and flings herself against the nearest wall, arms wide, like she’s trying to embrace the whole apartment. “Goodbye apartment!” she says, “You were a fantastic place to live. I will miss you. I hope I somehow get you again next year!”

Dean snorts and goes for one of the remaining boxes. “Very touching. Do you two want to be alone?”

Before he can pick anything up, Katie’s pressed against his back, arms wrapped around him. “Goodbye, Dean,” she whispers quietly, as he turns around in her arms to return her embrace. “You were a fantastic boyfriend. I will miss you. I hope I somehow get you again next year?” She looks up at him hopefully.

He kisses her forehead. “I promise you, your name is already on the lease.”

* * *

 She’s moved out and turned in her keys and his room is empty aside from a set of sheets still on the bed and their shared luggage.

She flies out tomorrow morning and he’ll drive back to Connecticut straight from the airport.They’ve showered all the moving sweat and grime off and they went out for dinner and now she’s sprawled on her stomach on his bed with a bag of M&Ms for dessert. He’s sitting backwards on his desk chair facing her, long arms crossed over the back, opening his mouth from time to time to catch his share of the M&Ms that she tosses with pretty decent accuracy at him.

“So, I was thinking,” she says, closing one eye to line up a blue M&M with his mouth before lobbing it in his direction.

It only takes a tiny shift of his head to make sure it lands on his tongue, and he crunches through the candy shell before answering. “And..?”

“I was thinking that maybe we’d both save some money next year if we split rent somewhere.” She looks thoughtfully down at her little pile of candy, avoiding his eyes as she selects her next piece.

“Are you asking me to move in with you next year?”

She looks up at him, slowly, as she pops the yellow candy she selected into her mouth. “Pretty much, yeah.”

He looks at her, a little surprised, but takes a long moment to think about it. It would be cheaper, but at the same time… He scoots his chair closer to the bed so he can reach her hand. “How pissed will you be if I say no?”

She looks disappointed, but he breathes a sigh of relief when it shows no sign of being an ‘I never want to see you again!’ disappointment. “No, huh?”

“I lived with my wife and it wasn’t great…” he starts.

“And now you’re saying that you’ll never live with another woman again?” She’s joking, but there’s a hint of real worry in her voice.

“I am definitely not saying that.” He says quickly, unfolding his long limbs from the chair and going to sit next to her on the bed, careful not to disturb the M&Ms. He slides his hand over her lower back comfortingly. “I am saying that I tried to be a full-fledged adult before I was ready and it blew up in my face. If it was just a matter of being closer to you, no problem, but it’s more about sharing space, and figuring out who pays for what, and who does what chores, and two people used to doing things their own way suddenly getting thrown together.” He bends low so he can touch his forehead to hers. “Give me another year in student res?”

There’s a lot she could say to that, he knows. The idea that they’ll still be together in a year is hardly concrete, and he knows she’s due to graduate at the end of next year - if she ever picks a major - and her staying in town after graduating is far from certain.

Apparently they’ll leave this all to later, though. She picks the least questionable topic. “You love it in the dorms.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Three months in and I was ready to poison the water supply to get some peace and quiet, but you actually love it.”

He laughs, tension broken. “There’s a guy down the hall that calls me The Dean Machine. Where else am I gonna get that?”

* * *

 Katie works at the summer camp in Maine all summer long but she gets a week off for the Fourth of July and instead of flying west to North Dakota to see her parents, she flies south to see Dean.

He drives to Hartford to pick her up from the airport. He’s easy to spot over the heads of the other people waiting for friends and family standing outside the security gate, but he only spots her as the crowd parts in front of her the instant before she throws herself at him. It’s a hug and then it’s more and they are working on a serious PDA when they get bumped by the crowd and realize they’re blocking traffic.

They laugh and he takes her hand and she presses close to his arm as they make their way towards the baggage carousels.

“You look great.” He says and she does. All that running around after spoiled summer camp kids has left her hair sun-streaked and her skin golden and she’s wearing a tank-top and khaki shorts that show it all off.

They pull into Stars’ Hollow and he glances over at her. She’s got her face to the window, smiling. He smiles back, reflexively, and just having her next to him makes him feel brave and impulsive. “You hungry?” he asks. He’s spent all his breaks avoiding town as much as possible and here he is scouting for a parking space just off the town square, smack dab in the middle of Dean’s Personal Hell Central.

“Famished,” she says, still peering out the window. Where else can he take her but _Luke’s_? It’s a Stars’ Hollow institution. It’s part of the whole Star’s Hollow experience. Plus, it’s the only place in town that isn’t choked with Taylor’s red, white and blue decorations.

The bell jingles familiarly as they walk through the front door. Luke’s behind the counter and looks up at the noise. He looks a little startled to see Dean standing there. Dean hopes nice Luke showed up to work today and not grumpy Luke who wasn’t happy about the third go round with Rory.

“Dean.” Luke blinks. “Long time no see.”

Dean scratches an eyebrow, still trying to suss out which Luke this is. “Yeah. I’ve been out of town.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Luke raises an eyebrow. “Honor roll? Congratulations.”

Katie squeezes his hand and stifles a laugh as tension leaves his shoulders and a grin spreads on his face. “Thanks. I had a little help.” He raises his hand, still clasped around Katie’s. “Luke, this is Katie. Katie, this is Luke.”

“ _The_ Luke?” Katie asks, dropping Dean’s hand to indicate the coffee cup shaped sign just visible through the door.

“That’s me.” Luke says, coming around the counter. “Nice to meet you.” They share a firm handshake and then the three of them are moving towards an empty table by the window. “What can I get you kids?”

* * *

 Katie is well on her way to winning his entire family over like a pro - although her things have been placed firmly in the guest room, rather than his room and he thinks they’re not likely to be moved - when his mother asks the fateful question: “So what are you majoring in, dear?”

Katie smiles, although it seems a bit flatter and more forced than any of her previous efforts. She mumbles, “General studies,” and artfully turns the conversation to her GPA rather than the classes she’s getting the grades for.

He congratulates her on her artistry later that evening, as they walk around the town under red, white and blue Christmas lights. “I think they definitely like you, which is good because my mother can give an amazing cold shoulder,” he says, thinking of how it was with Rory after Lindsay with a wince. He’s not sure if they like Katie because she’s not Rory, or because she was really that winning, or if it’s because Lindsay is apparently quite happy now with a steady job and a boyfriend in Vermont. His parents really liked Lindsay for some reason. Whatever it is, he’s not going to spend too much time questioning it.

She smiles at him and bumps her shoulder into his arm companionably. “They seem really nice. Clara, too. I’m glad I could finally meet them.”

“They did bring up a good point, though.”

“Uh oh.”

“If you are planning on graduating in four years, you’ve gotta pick a major. You’re running out of time to get the upper division requirements for whatever you pick done.”

“I knew it. You’re secretly working for the academic advisors! I knew I couldn’t trust someone who could declare so early,” she says with a grin as she scratches her cheek sheepishly. “I dunno… I mean, I like school, and I do well in school, but no one subject has reached out and grabbed me and said, _‘Yes! This is what you should be doing for the rest of your life!’_ ”

“I had an idea, actually,” he says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction.

“Lay it on me.”

“I was thinking you get your BA in general studies and then maybe apply for a Masters in Education.”

“Be a teacher?” She’s looking skeptical but he can read her well enough to see that she’s considering it, too.

“Why not? You’ve been working at that summer camp for four years, and yeah, you complain about it…”

“Well, you would too if you caught the little morons trying to lick poison ivy on a dare,” she interrupts.

He laughs. “You wouldn’t keep going back if you hated it or them. I think you like it. And I think you’d be great doing it full-time.”

“You just want to keep me around school a few extra years.”

“Merely an added bonus, I assure you.”

She snorts at him, but he can tell she’s thinking about it. Seriously thinking about it. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling at her so obviously.

* * *

 There’s a parade, of course.

Children with crepe paper streamers all over their bikes and wound through the spokes, Stars’ Hollow High’s marching band, and even a ’float’ – a red white and blue confection of flowers and crepe paper and glitter that was supposed to be Uncle Sam – dragged behind Kirk’s bicycle rickshaw. The Stars’ Hollow High men’s basketball team will also be making an appearance, waving from the back of a farm truck branded ‘ _Doose’s Market’_ , celebrating the fact that they did not finish dead last in the league for the first time in fifteen years.

“Magical.” Katie says suddenly, looking up from her snow cone, lips and tongue cherry pink. They’re standing on the park side of the main thoroughfare, waiting for the parade to start. There’s a bit of a delay, apparently the band misplaced its tuba player.

Dean looks down at her, blinking. “What?”

“This place. I’ve been trying all week to come up with a way to describe it that doesn’t sound condescending, like cute… or quaint.” She smiles up at him. “I’ve come up with magical. It’s like Brigadoon or something. Doesn’t seem real.”

“You’ve been here a week. Give it time to be irritating.” He means it, sort of, but he’s grinning too because it’s refreshing to see it all through fresh eyes. Even better to get a new set of happy memories to associate with the place that don’t all eventually come back to ‘and here’s where Rory Gilmore broke my heart… again.’ He leans down for a brief cherry-flavored kiss.

“Well, I suppose if it was magical, the clouds would look a little less ominous.” She’s glancing up at the sky and the dark clouds sweeping in from the horizon, so she misses him tense as he catches a set of familiar blue eyes widening in recognition.

“Dean?” Rory Gilmore. Of course. And in her wake, a handsome blonde boy he vaguely remembers tumbling out of the party with her the night they broke up for the last time.

“Uh. Hey, Rory,” Dean says lamely, unprepared. She’s still pretty, but less girlish and more striking. Still small, but the polish and the professionalism and the adulthood she wears makes up for it. “How are you?” He finishes lamely. Avoiding town means avoiding the gossip. It must be the first time in the history of Stars’ Hollow that someone has had to ask Rory what’s going on in her life.

“Good! Busy! Yale and the paper and applying for internships and… well, you know, now. You’re at college, too,” she finishes with a proud smile. 

“Yeah. I think it’ll stick this time,” he says, and he’s ecstatic when he can sweep his eyes effortlessly down to Katie at his side. He moves his hand to the small of Katie’s back as he introduces her. “This is my girlfriend, Katie.”

“And this is Logan,” Rory says, instigating a round of introductions and small talk. There’s awkwardness, of course, but the tension that ran through all their previous encounters seems to have broken. As pretty and as smart as Rory is, he doesn’t feel the temptation and he wonders if that’s because Rory breaking his heart the last time was the last straw or if it’s because he has Katie now. The chatter is as friendly and pleasant as it can be, considering the history and the two couples part warmly once the tuba player finds his way back to the band.

“I hope that wasn’t too weird for you. The whole ex-girlfriend thing…” Dean says quietly, leaning down to speak in her ear. He knew the instant he’d said her name, Katie had put two and two together, had to know who Rory was and what she had meant to him.

She shakes her head. “I trust you,” she says, and her face splits wide in a sunny grin, before turning expectantly towards the street.

The parade starts. And the heavens open.

Most of the crowd heads for the shelter of the storefronts on the far side of the street, but the gazebo in the park is quickly full, as well. Fortunately, they’re standing near a dense-leafed tree. Dean throws an arm around Katie’s waist and pulls her against the trunk with him as the rain pounds down around them. Katie’s laughing and reaches up to card her fingers through his dripping hair.

The parade is mostly done for, despite Taylor assuring people from the safety of the gazebo that the rain is sure to blow over soon. People are running from their shelter to their homes to dry off and change.

“Um… Help?” The strangely calm request just audible over the rain makes Dean turn his head to look back at the street. Kirk is valiantly trying to pedal through the rain, towing the float.

“Kirk! Get out of the rain!” Dean yells but it doesn’t stop Kirk’s pedaling. Dean shakes his head. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and goes running out into the street.

“I’m coming too!” she shouts, still smiling, and following him out into the pouring rain.

“Kirk! What is…” Dean pauses and looks back at Uncle Sam, who seems even less Uncle Sam-like than before. His hat is definitely sagging.

“I made it out of biodegradable Styrofoam.” Kirk says matter-of-factly, not fazed at all by being soaked through. “Very environmentally responsible but it dissolves in water. I wasn’t expecting the rain.”

Dean’s about to tell him to just leave it but Kirk seems so proud of it, he just can’t do it. “Come on,” he says, grabbing one side of the handlebars and starting to push the bike up the street at a jog as Kirk pedals. “ _Gypsy’s Garage_ is right up the street. It oughta fit in one of the repair bays.” 

Katie’s got the other side of the handlebars and he gives her a helpless grin over the top of Kirk’s head as they hustle the float to the garage, trailing flowers and glitter. “Stuff like this happen a lot here?” Katie asks.

“With shocking regularity,” Dean replies.

* * *

 There’s a tree in the Forester’s back yard, with a trunk broad enough for even Dean’s back to lean against comfortably. It overlooks a bit of a meadow and the open space is just big enough to get direct sunlight during most hours of the day.

Dean likes it and he’s pretty sure Katie does now, too.

She’s flying up to Maine again tomorrow morning but he’s not thinking about that.

He’s sitting on the ground, with his back up against the trunk of that tree, eyes closed and face warm in the sun. Katie’s back is a pleasant weight against his chest, her head leaning back against his shoulder and her temple to his chin. He’s not thinking about anything really, other than being comfortable and quiet and warm and happy, and he turns his head a little to plant a kiss on Katie’s hairline and tightens his arms around her. He’s not thinking about how he thinks this whole education thing might be a good match for Katie. About how a masters degree will keep her at school with him for a few extra years. He doesn’t think about after school, about finding some place that’ll pay him to figure out bridges or cars or skyscrapers with a school nearby that needs an extra teacher; and a nice neighborhood with maybe a one-bedroom fixer-upper he can work on over the weekends. Definitely is not thinking about a day when that little bungalow might be too small and he’ll need to find something bigger or build and extension. Not thinking about getting old with somebody, having a partner and having a friend. He’s just happy and warm and he’s thankful he’s got a girl in his arms and that being in love doesn’t make him feel guilty. He doesn’t even hate Connecticut anymore.

Katie shifts a little in his arms and she rubs a hand down his denim-covered thigh. “Hey,” she says slowly, sounding as lazy and content as he feels. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he says, lifting his chin as she tucks her head under his.

She snorts, not believing him and pokes his ribs a little with her elbow, trying to incite a different response.

“I’m thinking…” he starts, drawing it out like he’s wracking his brain. “That I’m happy and I’m lucky.”

She cuddles closer in his arms. “Not lucky,” she corrects, and she pulls her head back a little so she can kiss his jaw. “You’re a good man, Dean. You deserve it.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are sequels to this that were written upon request in 2008-2009-- a short one-shot, and a longer multi-chaptered one. If you'd like me to post them here, please let me know. I'm not sure what the interest level is.


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